


Howling green river

by Cucolla



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Animal Attack, Animal Death, Crack Treated Seriously, Daenerys Targaryen Lives, F/M, Hunters & Hunting, Post-Canon, Sansa Stark is Lady of Winterfell, The Riverlands can't catch a break, Warg Arya Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23754508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cucolla/pseuds/Cucolla
Summary: Meera Reed and Olyvar Frey share a centuries-long family hatred, but they also share a river and a murderous man-eating wolf problem. And some melancholy.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters (minor), Meera Reed/Bran Stark (Past), Meera Reed/Olyvar Frey
Kudos: 10





	Howling green river

**Author's Note:**

> The Nymera pack situation intrigues me a lot and I decided to do a book-oriented solution to it after the many wars are over. And what better than a crack pairing to go with it. Some original secondary characters and some not so original.

Meera was distraught. After the War of Five Kings, the War for Dawn, the Dance of Dragons, after all kingdoms bleed and magic returned with its court of horror, winter came all the same. Maybe humanity was saved and winter would not last a thousand year but with how diminished provision were after the war, two years would be almost unbearable especially for the smallfolk. There had been almost four years of winter. And now there was a murderous wolf.

A nightmarish beast with an appetite for human meat. The irony of writing to her liege, The She-Wolf, to ask for aid to kill a wolf was not lost on Meera. She knew the refusal she received was understandable. Winterfell had to be rebuilt, the roads protected and a wolf hunt is a waste of good able men who were now scares. Lady Sansa was alone too, now that Bran has gone south and Arya sailed west. Her lady, apologized and asked her to be patient. A part of her was offended, Meera and her people fought for her, she brought her brother back. Lady Sansa even offered coins but she needed large wolfhounds that her people did not keep and stallions used to dogs and hunting. Winter is hard for us all. She reminds herself.

The roads are covered in snow and the crannogs are hard to reach with this weather, rain and snow increasing the river flow and roughening it stream. And they are still lucky, the Green Fork could have frozen if the White Walkers had reached South. From her chambers she hears the hissing of her river far away, Grewater Watch is located on a wide oxbow lake where the waters are calm, almost asleep. At night, before the fog descended, she could see from the towers the last boats being paddled to safety, there were no longer a frog symphony since winter started but instead, a cold wind agitating the surface of the river creating a frozen layer that would melt at dawn.

Some part of her wanted to send letter to the Capital. She wonders what Jojen would recommend. Maybe he would have written a letter. _Lord Brandon Stark, Master of Whispers._ At times she fiercely missed him and yet she had known since they arrived to that cave that he could never be hers again, her friend, her lover perhaps. After all he didn’t even belonged to himself anymore, he was part of a bigger force. His duty was with his realm and humanity, hers was with her people. She is glad he hadn’t ask her to stay by his side, because maybe she would have. Now, she didn’t want him to think she was asking for repayment or worse that she was not a capable ruler.

“The Neck couldn’t ask for a better lady.” Bran had assured her, his voice monotone but his hand was warm on hers, his blue eyes looking at her with something that was either adoration or deep sorrow. It has been years ago now.

She tough of Summer too and the wolf.

Nobody noticed at first. Travellers told there were many wolves roaming the now reduced lands that of House Frey since the start of winter, it was known. For a time there were only rumours of wolves attacking cattle and lone travellers which happened at times in winter in these land those barren lands, the most fertile of the kingdom.

And now more than thirteen crannogmen deaths were attributed to the Beast of the Green Fork in some months. For centuries crannogmen have been safe in their bogs and swaps but they were loyal and had not failed House Stark when they called their bannermen to fight the horrors north from The Wall. Many die and those who live faced winter, they had to face to ironborn trying to invade, had fought the Boltons, and with the cold the frog die or hide and lizard-lions sleep and some swaps freeze making it hard to fishing.

“I ought to go and search for this wolf. I will be careful.” She had told her parents at night. Lord Reed solar was damp and cold, the candlelight could only produce a frail flame. Still, Meera liked it, there was a table of simple wood but with delicate carvings of faces, frogs, birds, and fishes. His father had not been the same since she came back, he is older she supposed and had lost his heir. There is no anger or doubt in his eyes though, his trust in her absolute. Overwhelming, even. He had not asked her to return either he has told her that she could choose her path at the Wall when the war ended.

“Be careful Meera, this is not a wolf you will be able to befriend.” Said Lady Jyana, her mother, her voice full her special accent and her moss green eyes so sad and full of resignation. If Meera felt guilty for Jojen death, their mother felt guilty for both his son's death and his daughter's pain.

“Mother, Father, I will not be gone long and will return to seek help should I need it.”

Howland nodded and tried for a smile caressing her hair slightly between his fingers like he did when she was a little girl, it made her smile too.

Greywater Watch was a silent castle, its tower touched by the sun the waters warm around it. Meera left the castle alone, with her net and her spear and thick furs. Her small boat led her far from the castle fairly quickly. She fished to eat and camped on the dry banks. As she paddles south, she stops in the villages and isolated homes to ask about the wolf. In the crannogs, people received her well invite her to their modest homes built with mud and adobe, round and dark with the fire burning in the middle and fish drying above it. The inside is impossibly damp and warm despite the winter outside. “Lady Meera” they greet here, and they help her to tie her boat, never failing to recognize her. They answer to her questions truthfully and sometimes ask for stories of her journey or the war. There is admiration on the youngest audiences, tears and a silent and resigned anger from some widows. She tells of course, having repeated a thousand times her adventures. It feels good to transform her terrible memories in tales of hostile but enchanted faraway lands where magic is alive and terrible and deathly and evils are defeated. She wonders if this will make the people afraid of leaving their swaps, she hopes it does.

She returned after a fortnight having learned many things: People near the southern border of the Neck were terrified. A girl of five collecting dry branches had been carried away by a monstrous wolf. Her family saw impotent was her limp figure disappeared. The said the wolf was monstrous in size, bigger than the biggest of lizards-lions. Smart too. It hide by the shores of the Green Fork and approached its victims in the afternoon when the mist was so tick one couldn’t distinguish the water and the swap. A big wolf, as big as a small horse or a deer some say. Like two lizards-lions, one on the top of the other with at least two dozen other wolves. They could tell by the tracks left. At nights the river song was consumed by loud howling from sunset to dawn of wolves that seemed to be waiting like a bad omen.

But it was the footprints she found that scare her. There were no way to find tracks the snow erasing it too quickly but there were scratches on the willows of the dry Southern banks that seemed done by a bear rather than a wolf. A direwolf. They needed hunters of game, the brutal huntsmen of the dry lands North or South of the Neck and their killer mastiffs, without that a party of the most experience hunter would fall like a pack of deer. She told her father that much and he seemed pensive.

It was one of the rare merchants that venture North that gave her an answer when had gone to Moat Cailin to oversee a large group. They were merchant who now travelled in groups with armed men to prevent attacks of men and beast in the Riverlands and the Causeway. She had asked them how much a huntsmen and his dogs could service cost for a wolfhunt.

“My Lady.” The merchant who answered was a rough man from the mountains who sold timber. “The Southrons, those Freys, are offering 200 golden dragons for another wolf. I live in the North my Lady, close to Flint lands and even there, so close to wild mountains to The Wall we don’t have such need of hunter. What is in the South that turns the wolves so feral? Too much fish, mayhaps?”

“My Lord, it could be.”

* * *

As the ship sailed farther West, the wolf dreams started changing. They were less frequent but longer, she seemed to spend days hunting in the snow with every dream. Surviving in the barren lands of rivers had become difficult, there were not men venturing in small groups in the forest their armours telling their locations and villages huddled with fire and light all night, warry the pack. Arya liked some dreams, running in the forest and hunting, but her wolf was worried there was almost never game and less and less frozen corpses so they had to venture to the roads. A part of the pack had gone south following a couple of little grey wolves, to live on rabbit and deer and fish, Nymeria could not bear to leave her territory and to hide in the South. There they had to fly from men and be warry of dogs, scurry like foxes. So they headed north where creature dwell in the swamp. Sleeping lizard lion and fish and men still unaware of their power.

Arya wakes up with her heart beating fast, and the taste of blood in her mouth. Gendry worries but said nothing. She had told him about Nymeria and her pack in the Riverlands. He had acted strangely then no wanting to talk about it. Arya didn’t realize she was insisting on the subject but she was proud of the warging Bran had taught her, it was a marvel, a true marvel of magic, and a great power, one she wanted and welcomed after seeing so many magical terrors.

“You should have killed her.” He told her one day but added nothing else.

Arya had been angered and they didn’t talk about it anymore. It seemed distant, unimportant now. They were going to see them reach the limits of the known world, go beyond if possible. Free like at times she had only felt in her wolf dreams.

* * *

Olyvar Frey had never kept the Seven too close, he grew up in the Twins where the laws of God and men are loose at best. Now, however, he was starting to believe his lineage was indeed cursed. Maybe he should be kneeling at the sept every night like his sister Roslin to pray the wolf away. Desperate, hungry and afraid the smallfolk claimed that it came as a punishment for their Lords’ sins. That the Beast only attacked in what was left of the lands of House Frey. God’s punishment for the Red Wedding, and the kinslaying. The Young Wolf’s ghost seeking revenge.

Olyvar is not afraid of Robb Stark, even if he knows that would he have been traitor Lord Start would have taken his head himself. He felts guilty every day, he should had been there, if the wolf was indeed the spirit of his King of the North, the one King he truly hailed, he would gladly submit to his justice and bear his neck to Grey Wind to be bleed dry. But this Beast seemed not to seek vengeance as much as meat. The attacks stopped for some months but then returned when people were just starting to forget. House Frey offered 50 golden dragons for the Beast skin, and then 100 and 200 golden dragons. Quests were for summer knight’s eager to prove themselves and this was the heart of winter.

Meanwhile, people died: a maid trying to find roots in the forest was found dead with her bowels open as eaten by a beast, a fortnight later it was a man travelling with his cousin to a nearby village. A young man was carried away while ice finishing. The villagers told them they saw a form as big as a bull. Some villages had organized hunting parties and some large wolves had died. House Frey had provided horses and coins to two Erenford knights, renewed hunter, but they came back empty-handed, talking however about enormous footsteps marks and bones with large bites on them. That, however could be due to scavenging as well, from wolves or dogs. Famished villagers even. During war some villages had resorted to terrible extremes to survive, the Riverlands no stranger to all kinds of horrors. 

Olyvar had written to his liege and his ravens receive no answer. Finally, he had been a fool going to Lord Edmure marriage, Roslin had warned him to not embarrass himself begging their liege for help _. “Lord Tully will not help you brother_ ” she had say she never said the name of the man who had been his husband and send her away though she called it sometimes in her prayers, “ _he cannot help the Freys in front of his new Bracken wife”._ But he insisted he had go to see his lord in spite of the snow and the.

Lord Edmure had been polite, even if he could not afford to be too friendly to Freys he took time to hear him ramble about the monstrous wolf ravaging the land.

“My lord, we have to get rid of this creature, there is unrest on the villages. If they further empty we will be in further ruin.” Roslin would have been deeply ashamed of his begging but he was not, he was already a kinslayer, a Frey one, there is no honour left. He could have kneeled.

“Lord Frey I apologize, I cannot afford to send knights or guard to aid you they are needed here... Surely you understand.” He had affirmed, somehow coldly, as Lord Blackwood passed, then on a lower voice. “I will write to my niece, Lady Sansa, perhaps she could delay payment of compensation for some months.”

Olyvar winced, he did not want to be late for paying the Starks and shook his head.

“I understand, my lord. It won’t be necessary to bother Lady Stark, I thank you for your kindness. We shall find a way to slain it. Congratulations on your wedding.” Lord Edmure looked as he wanted to ask something but there were already rumours that he had missed too much his first wife, his Frey wife. 

Roslin has not shamed him for his failure. In fact she had been happy to see him return, Ros had waited for him in the bridge, with Bethany in the arms. The girl was excited to see him and to be outside, she was not allowed many times but loved the snow. A true winter child his little niece.

“You were right sister.” He said trying to offer her a sad smile.

She had smiled and given him his niece to carry.

“Beth, tell your uncle you had missed him.” The little girl was more interested in catching snowflakes but she hugged him. “Don’t fear. I have good news to you brother but now you must rest, I shall tell you tomorrow.”

He slept late the next day. It had been almost two years since Olyvar Frey had been chosen by his sister Lady Roslin Frey to be castellan of the Twins and on that time good news had been very rare he was excited to hear some. It was the new maester who delivered the news, a handsome boy proud as a peacock and with better lineage than House Frey, who completely disregarded Olyvar and didn’t seem aware of the historic event he was living when he practically thrown the enveloped at his desk. He had never seen the sigil of House Reed so close. The letter was already opened.

“Letter my Lord, Lady Roslin told me to show you, she is going in the other Castle to count grain.” As a side though, like it was a curiosity he added. “It didn’t come from a raven, this one a Northerner merchant brought it.”

 _It comes from the crannog Lord._ The sigil, the contour of a lizard-lion was imprinted on grey wax he wondered how many centuries had passed since the last time the Twins received a letter from Greywater Watch. Not many perhaps, House Frey is not an old house, and now would never be.

The letter is short and direct.

_Lady Roslin Frey,_

_Word that the Twins had put a price on the Beastly Wolf head has reached The Neck. It’s in our best interest to join efforts to kill this creature whose innocent victims grown day by day in our lands as well as yours. Should you be able to provide huntsmen, mounted and armed, and hounds we shall provide you with our most skilled hunters and trackers as we have been able to locate the Beast._

_The time is too dire to dwell in past rivalries, I trust my lady your answer will be positive and prompt,_

_Meera Reed,_

_Heir of Greywater Watch_

He saw Roslin later. 

“Brother, we have to accept.” She took his hand looking with earnest and decided eyes. “The crannogwoman is right, we have to end this as soon as possible. They are good trackers, the frog-eaters. It is know, they should be able to find it.”

Not many things were now about the men of the Neck in the South, but they were good hunters without a doubt and they were in dire need of trackers and expert hunters at the Twins. If they could get hold in the banishing wolf it would be a miracle. 

“Our huntsmen will need some convincing they would fear that they can catch moss in their armpits.” He smiled bus Ros brow furrowed. It cannot be easy but she knows it.

“We will send men, as long and there are paid common men will go and … we can ask the Marcil Erenford to lead then, I think. He is still our bannerman and should go frog-eaters or not. You should write to him telling as much. Before we are killed by the smallfolk preferably.” Marcil was a pale and tall young knight of House Erenford, swear to House Frey for a long time and appreciative that they had tried to help his aunt Lady Joyeuse and write to know about his youngest half-brother.

 _She commands it_ thinks Olyvar _she is the Lady Regent of the Twin and I’m her castellan._ It did offended him some to be ordered around by his little sister but he was alive and at the Twins. Another part of himself was proud. Roslin had been Lady Tully and had learned to become to be strong and dignified. Brave too, when Edmure annulled their marriage she did not shed tears. She was so different from the sweet little sister he left to squire for Robb Stark. They reunite years later when the Dragon Queen came to the Riverrun. Roslin had her marriage to Edmure Tully annulled despise having a small daughter with Tully blue eyes. Lord Edmure gave the Twins to his firstborn provided that she step down from any claim to Riverrun. Beth, near her sixth nameday, barely remembers his father even if she knew that he was the Warden of the Trident and took pride in it. But it was Olyvar she called when she wanted to ride on her pony and asked to pretend to be his knight.

“I will Ros, it will be long and costly. I will go myself if necessary.”

* * *

There are men riding with horses. Men with different scents. Like the ones they hunted near the large river, they would fight with some luck and the pack would look or wounded men and horses. Easy prey. Arya has her doubts and yet she could not warg on Nymeria anymore. Even if she could, what would she gain to spy on a villager’s squabble? There were no sounds of armoured knights and She had done so on the war and it was her fault she had leave the forest of the Trident to go Northern to the lands of Frey to seek her revenge. It had been useful. When she told her she could go and search other lands Nymeria refuses. Dragons had arrived to the Trident and the hate direwolves had for them both amused and confused Arya.

She doesn’t feel anything when her direwolf eats men. Arya herself had killed many times, she keeps the count of her death but not Nymeria because what would her, she is a wolf. It does bother her that it’s real, they were feasting on people that lived, but men have eaten corpses during the war she knew it was not the same. But who was Arya to judge? _You have never hesitated to judge before._ And now she didn’t want it anymore being the judge of life and death. 

* * *

They met at Greenshores, a village of the South only a few miles from Wetwood the last true crannog village before the South, it was there where a young maid was killed. They had seen wolves since before the War of Five Kings.

Olyvar recalls than when he rode with Robb Stark, curious villagers would go out to see the armies or even try to ask who the newcomers where. Now, as soon as an armed man passed villages seemed dead and even fire were put out. If some rachitic villages had sprung around the Kingsroad, in the cattle trail they passed to reach Greenshores they only crossed ruins, not old majestic ruins like Moat Caitlin, burned villages and abandoned carts with clothes still on it and surely corpses of men and animals if he were to dig under the thick blanket of snow. There were not even beggars but he saw light going out and doors closing when he passed even if he had only three other men with him. After all only a few men with swords could destroy a village.

He had few men, two Erenfords knights and skilled hunters, a young half-brother and cousin, trained in arms and who had hunted. The rest were hedge knights some huntsmen of some fame in the region that had brought death wolves to the Twins before and some young villager heroes, bandits perhaps. No more than fifteen men but they managed to get enough crossbows and more important than all, horses and hounds. Those had been the hardest to get. Derryl, the Hunter, had the most dogs, mastiffs, and wolfhounds large and shaggy. Hounds need large quantities of meat nobody has in winter and even House Frey had to get rid of its kennels. Luckily they still have some horses trained to hunting, surefooted and used to hounds and wolves.

The crannogmen were already there, they had no mounts but some mules charged with spears and nets. They were at least a dozen men. Some so short they resembled boys, they were dressed in with boiled leather much like them, plate armours won’t do on wolf hunting. Their leather armours were strange, the forms roughs, they had knives, bows and frog spears. Mudmen, frog-eaters they had many names for them, they are said to be primitive and treacherous but if they could get rid of Freys and Ironmen and Boltons during the war, they surely could help kill some wolves. Olyvar was in charge of the expedition because Marcil Erenford preferred not to deal with their aquatic neighbours. The rest of the men would rather prefer follow a stonemen or one of those Dothrakis rather than a cursed kinslayer, a Frey. But they would also rather live than be eaten or starved by wolves and it was enough for all alliances to prosper.

“Good morning, my lords, might I ask who commands you?” It would have been polite to dismount but he could not appear weak in front of the frog-eaters.

It was a short boy who responded, a smile in his lips.

“It would be me, Ser.” The voice was too feminine and Olyvar noticed with surprise how lean the body was. It could not be, and yet. “I’m Lady Meera of House Reed.”

The Southern men whispered, everyone has heard of her and he didn’t know what he imagined of the saviour of Bran Stark but it was a slim crannogwoman wearing breeches. At least that was an excuse to dismount without asking what was a proof of courtesy and what wasn’t. 

“Lord Olyvar Frey, my lady.” He preferred to be over with it fast. “Castellan of the Twins. I fear I’m not a knight.”

She looked at him curiously then nodded. A woman then, they were not expecting she was coming in person. He wondered if she was not afraid to be among so many men, she has a spear and many of her bannermen to protect her. Meera Reed was the girl who flew from Winterfell with Bran Stark. People said that she was a greenseer and a witch, that Bran Stark could warg into her and that she had a poisoned spear. She didn’t look like much of a warrior, but she was huntress for sure, at least dressed like one. She was pretty enough looked northerner. If war had taught Olyvar something is not to question those who fight at your side he had seen Essosi sellswords battle Essosi Unsullied, a former Meerenese slave was Lord Darry, and the Queen has dragons.

“My father, Lord Howland Reed pledge to the North, sends me and my men to help with the hunting of a common enemy. I trust you would extend us your true and gracious hospitality.” Her words are meant as a warning for Olyvar clearly and it works well as there are rumours on both sides.

 _My lady, I will be as hospitable as my noble lineage can probe_. He thinks as a barb, Roslin would have chastised him he knows better than saying it. Lady Reed will probably not find much humour on it. She was pretty with her beautiful eyes and brown hair and looked amiable enough for Lady of the Neck.

“Do not fear my lady, I swear upon the Twins I defend on name of Lady Bethany Tully, you are safe in our company.” The Tully name is a warrantee of some honour at least.

“Except for wolves.” Recalled the woman. 

It brought a smile to his lips, should an odd situation to smile these formal almost hostile encounter.

“Except for wolves, my lady.”

* * *

The men did not fight among them, at least for now, they were searching for them. There was a woman, a woman her scent Nymeria recognized, she had been threading upon her territory. Alone first, and she had paid the woman no mind, lite and slim as she was even eating her would be too much effort. But not she came back with a small number of men, unarmed, they did not have plates who cliqued but more were to come she can sense it. The woman looked at threes she and her little grey cousins had scratched and at prey they had eaten, cautious but insistent like crafty lone wolves when they are young and are looking to steal a pack for an older wolf.

On the snow her footsteps were lighter than those of the men she commanded, she was surefooted though and knew they walked close to the river to hide their marks. There were dogs too, large one trained to hunt wolves who barked loudly as soon as they caught scent of them. Some of her little grey cousins still feared the hounds especially when they were in the company of men even if they have killed and feasted on many men and their dogs and their cattle too.

* * *

Meera guided them to the river banks she had explored and sure enough there were more bones and marked threes, some fur attached to reeds, but not a single track of paw. The river and the snow have took care of that. It’s the bones that convince the Southrons men of her theory. Derryl, the hunter, was not a lord but a common men of fifty still strong despite his grey hair, he told her he’d kept breed dogs for lordly kennels and been huntmaster for minor Riverlands houses. Doing all the hard job of tracking boards and deer for the lords to kill with swords. Meera deeply despises that kind of hunting parties.

Lord Frey was not well versed on the art of hunting it showed but he had been polite enough to only shout his mouths seeing that he had nothing to say which in Meera experience was positive and rare. She couldn’t help but feel some curiosity about him he doesn’t seem shy but didn’t talk much and it was clear that it was Ser Marcil Erenford who was in charge of the hunting.

Even after all those years she still remembers how she and her brother had been insulted by Freys arriving at Winterfell. Jojen had not cared for he really could ignore that kind of thing, his mind on graver affairs. But she had been offended she had wanted to respond to say something but not the place. They said horrible things during their stay, things they surely say frequently at the Twins, in the Riverlands. Perhaps it was the fact that his family was reviled now that had taught this Frey to keep her mouths shout. It made her sad to think about that day, about her brother, how she wished he was by her side on this first expedition south from the crannog.

Both parts seem equally unhappy to the others and he was pretty sure than a fight could broke the moment they exchanged more than two words. But maybe the pragmatism only winter can provide won and some solution could be found. The men especially disliked her, her clothes and her hunting, she could tell but were accommodating enough. At least the Erenford knight boasted about never having had huntmaster. Both men agreed with her best tracker Lejan Cray: There was a beast with an enormous jaw biting bones, there were wolf fur and marks of wolf clawa.

“The wolf is large it could very well be a direwolf. I wouldn’t have believed it but as things are now. We can’t be certain my lord, but if it is, it must know that we are here already.” Recognized the hunter.

“We shall force it to attack. All hunt is about that in the end.” Told Cray.

“With a direwolf my lord there would be little forcing.” Informed Meera doing her best to have a sure, commanding voice. “They are brave and don’t fear many men, let alone hounds. If it’s a direwolf it would be easier a solution but harder a mission. Direwolves who join grey wolf pack have command over the smaller wolf and killing the beast would be enough to disband the pack. But they were larger and stronger and smarter than normal wolves, smarted than dogs and ravens.”

“You would know, my lady?” Asked Derryl, and she could not tell if his tone was more curious or than mocking.

“As a matter of fact I do. I had lived in close company with a direwolf, tamed for sure but still a hunter. They don’t fear anything and they are smart too much at times. Do they not Lord Frey?”

It takes a second for Olyvar to realize she is talking to him. He bit his lips, and seemed slightly uncomfortable. Meera did her best for not allowing a mocking smile to scape to her lips. She had been careful to be informed about the Freys she was meeting and was surprised to find that Olyvar had served as a squire for the Young Wolf, the one his own family killed. But he didn’t seem to have gone North with the Boltons or the Lannisters, she would remember at least his name. She couldn’t make herself an opinion, but he would have seen Robb direwolf and she was curious to see his reaction to its mention.

“I… I am less experienced than you my lady, for sure. But for what I recall, the one I’ve seen did not fear weapons, or soldiers or dogs.” There was something sad on his face while he spoke.

“Then my lady, we have to prepare for a fast hunt, and dangerous.” Declared Derryl, slowly the rest of the men nodded.

The crannogmen and rivermen set camp on different locations. What would had seemed folly during normal hunts was only precautions with wolves that preferred to have their enemies grouped together. Both sides had horns and shooting wolves while occupied on another prey seemed like an effective way to dispose of many. Though the main hunt was the direwolf. They would send different groups scouting on the morrow to determine where they are. Then they can try and run the wolves to a clearing and attack with crossbows and arrows.

It was almost night and she help Lejan Cray lighting the fire. He was a man on his forty, broad of frame and one of the best lizard-lion hunter that the Neck has now. Most of her men she knew all her life most were men wrong, much older than her than regarded her with both respect and affection. Some she suspected preferred her as her new lady than Jojen and she felt angry just thinking about it. Only Lejan’s son Perre and some skilled archers were above her age.

Perre Cray often tried to talk to her but Meera had always preferred his father’s tales about hunts of lizard-lions and impossibly big fishes. She was looking at the flames when all men felt silent. She raised her gaze to see Lord Frey, visibly nervous looking at her.

“Lady Reed, a word if you might.”

Meera was quick to get on her feet her a spear in hand. She advanced to him with a decided walk, he didn’t move but did a small move with his chin. He was not handsome, but not ugly either, some muscle on him even if he was not knight he was much taller than her and she would not say he looked as a weasel as she had not seem many weasels in her life. His brown eyes seemed earnest and his hair was very dark. When she met her eyes he cast down his gaze. _Is he afraid of such a small frog-eater? He should. I’m not afraid of him at all._ But she puts in out of his misery nodding and leading him to a three near their camp. Her men could still see her from afar but could not hear their words.

“I was talking to my men and they think it would be useful is some of your good archers would agree to learn and use a crossbow. We have some to spare and it’s an effective weapon I could train some men’s, it’s rather quick.” He explained.

“A dishonourable weapons for Southerners I’ve heard and then it’s said that we fight dirty at the Neck.” She felt a little jab between rivals could not do harm.

“Yes, it brings dishonour to knights to use it in battle. But there will not be many knight involved.” He touched his scarce chin with his knuckles. “Only some desperate men and wolves and direwolves, tough these beast have their honour, no doubt. And your bannermen do too for sure.”

 _And you my lord, do you not have honor? At least he is sincere_. It was a strange musing, a men that claimed to be no honour. She had been thinking about his relation with Robb Stark and though she knew one couldn’t trust a Frey maybe he could clear some of her doubts.

“Lord Frey, excuse me, but a direwolf in your lands.” Meera has expected to be as cruel and crude as those Freys has been to her that night at Winterfell, but now in front of the sad eyes of these man, she tried to put it kindly. “You served Robb Stark, couldn’t it-“

“It’s not Greywind.” He said too quickly and didn’t look at her. “It’s true what they say. That they killed the direwolf and- I was not there, I didn’t knew.”

When the last sentence his voice higher. They were both silent then she thought he would leave but he didn’t.

“I was not at the Red Wedding but I was told, reliable sources, they were both beheaded for sure.”

 _And the direwolf’s head sew on Robb Stark neck._ He lean uneasily to the tree and looked at the sky for a second, he was clenching the jaw and trying to breathe slowly. A slim moon was appearing on the still clear grey sky. It was hard to tell when night started without the croaking of frogs. She missed it. 

“Could…” Lord Frey tried to steady his voice. “Could it be more than one direwolf you think my lady?”

“I doubt it. If there was a direwolf pack we would know already. All witnesses I’ve talked to, describe only one enormous wolf and then others of regular size. I used to hunt with Summer and between the two we could emptied a forest small game easily.”

“Summer is...”

“Was. Lord Brandon Stark’s direwolf.”

For a time she had felt he had become her friend on the way that animals can be with human without warging and ravens. They hunted together, on these times nothing was surer than his jaws and his instincts to catch the game she directed to him. He was not Bran on these times. She has been a lone hunter but she got to understand why drylands hunter used their hounds and their hawks. 

“In the wilderness there is no stopping a direwolf. Not men or beast.” She warned and sounded too much dark for own likening. “Tough I bested him in battle once, I caught him with my net, back at Winterfell.”

A fond smile found her lips then. She remembers Summer smart and brave and death like everyone but Brandon and her. 

“My lady, let’s hope it is.” Olyvar wished, the after a second. “You faced a direwolf?”

Meera smiled, she had been younger, already a woman grown but it was her first time out of her land and all the world seemed an uncharted territory for adventures and wonders. She understood there would be dangers and that a war was brewing but could barely conceive them it truth. It had been a game to go against Summer, it had been one for him too. She would still do it if she were to find another tamed direwolf. She still loved games and animals and challenges even if she could never be that careless ever again. 

“Because my lord, I’m a huntress.” She tried to say it with gravity and a straight face and he tried not to laugh. She let a small laugh nonetheless. “But it’s true, Summer was not lapdog either. He was clever and wise, Shaggydog, Rickon’s wolf was wilder, and he bit one of your kin. A kid, unkind to frog-eaters.” She had forgotten about the bite almost.

Olyvar blushed some but still smiled, if only Meera could make more men smile without having to recall their families’ dishonour it would serve her with finding a betrothal.

“At Winterfell…” He seemed to be thinking hard on all the branches of his family three. “Either Big or Little Walder. They should have been kinder to Northern, they die in the North both of them.” His smile felt but he had seemed sadder while talking about Robb.

“I’m sorry, my lord.”

“We were not that close, but they were young.” He stopped for a second then looked at her again. “Greywind could be aggressive too, he was particular about people he liked and disliked. He rode into battle with Robb and could take more than four men. Lady Stark trusted his judgement thoroughly. I was terrified of him in truth.”

Meera remembered hearing Olyvar Frey was a kinslayer and part of her burned to ask him about it in this odd lapse of reminisce and honesty they were having. She would have liked to know more about the Young Wolf too, Bran talked so often about his older brother. However, the sky had turned grey and she wondered how much time she spend talking with this Frey. Their men would talk. Crannogmen especially she wouldn’t want her men to see her talking with this man, a Frey, like a foolish girl.

“Lord Frey, I will talk to my men about the crossbow.”

He straighten. “Of course, thank you my lady.”

She nodded. Taking her spear she returned to her men and saw him leaving. What an odd man. He talked about tragedies and had killed his kin and yet she could not find on herself to be afraid of him. It was his face perhaps his expression were easy to read. But more than anything he didn’t shy from talking about death and mixing it with laughter just like Meera do, something most people find unsettled and she never understood why. Surely there is not a man or woman on the continent that had bittersweet memories that can make them cry or laugh on different days. Yet everyone seemed eager to pretend that no war had existed and to leave everything else behind. She understood she too wanted to live and think on the future but it was hard to hide all these festering wounds of the past.

* * *

The men follow them for the week they scout the land and prod on her territory, the dogs have their scent and when they run they know it and can follow. The horses who don’t fear wolf scents. They set traps that killed some wolves. They cannot go North or West, because of the water or South, because they were even more men. They came from different sides, their dog and fire scents covering her territory scarring the prey and the villages they passed by did not let anyone out alone or after sunset. They were starting to get hungry but more than anything it angered her feeling cornered, trapped. She had to fight and Nymeria didn’t fear fighting, entering her enemy lair and killing, she had seen it on dream how to stalk men and enter their villages and homes on the death of night.

The wolf dreams continued, entering on her dreams on her mind. Her wolf wanted the rage, the clarity of the mind before the kill. And Arya recalled Braavos and the House of Black and White and then Westeros, her vengeance the wall. She had relished on that hate at the day and enjoyed on the taste of blood on her mouth at night on the wolf dreams. She had lived for that feeling only. Now it was different she was free on other ways, ways she had always craved and her anger had dissolved on her desire for adventure, she was Arya Stark again and was willing to find all who lived inside them. She didn’t want to live through Nymeria to fuel her anger but she could not deny her their bond.

So she approached at night, close to the river then hid by threes. And she saw a small village and on both side the hunter with dogs and horses. They were me keeping watch but too close to the hounds and horses. The winter wind had blown on her favour and the hounds did not catch her scent. She went with only two of her more courageous little grey cousins. They advance to one of the human's tents and let the dog smell them. The dogs became warry and bark. The horses hissed and the men wake. Then she runs to the other humans, barely waking, she took one of their mounts, smaller than a horse and carried it away, crying and bleeding to the river, running as fast as they could. They got on the water leaving the men behind.

On the morning Arya felt exhausted and worried. She could have prayed for the hunter to be mindless craved highborn that would stop the hunt after some of their beasts died, it had happened before. She knew it was not it. There were too many men and horses and dogs, this was a big hunting, a planned one. 

* * *

Very early in the morning they reunite near the riverbank, the Green Fork cold water covered with thin ice in the morning seemed to reflect the sun cold white light. The river roared like a lion awakening and as it was sleep it had no time to erase the footprints of the wolf. Derryl, the hunter had two wolfhound death, they were easily taken because they were tied but it was a normal wolf they could have killed. The watchers confirmed they had seem few shadows, less than six, some normal and one monstrous.

“It was a warning.” Said Meera, darkly.

“It’s a beast. How can it know about warning and deceive?” Protested one of the knight of the Riverlands and frankly, he could understand the disbelief.

“A clever one. Foxes put worst stunts and yet, the gods have mercifully not made then big and ponies and deadly as bears.” Explained Penn Greengood, a crannogmen archer. “It’s not unheard off, some wolves do it to rival packs to avoid a butchery, as a warning.”

It followed the tracks on horse before they disappeared. The wolves could enter the river some minutes but eventually had to reach another part of the banks. With each hour, the snow hid the scent and the tracks but the hounds were agitated, full of decision and crannogmen were the best trackers Olyvar had seen, able to spot patches of soft snow and marks on the roots they would have overlook. They went into the forest as best they could with the rivermen cutting the branches with axes and sword, until they found a stream.

Olyvar didn’t recall a stream in that part and it was probably nothing but a brook during the summer and autumn, but the snowing and raining of winter had made the Green Fork and all the waters unruly and powerful. Even this little stream run fast carrying long branches, the bottom could not be seen because of the foam, horses, and dogs would not want to cross, not tired as they probably were.

“We have lost the track.” Declared the hunter.

“We have to cross.” Countered Lady Reed, looking at the stream.

Crannogmen approach their lady and say things to her, whispering so they would not hear and she shook her head.

“Lady Reed.” Said Marcil Erenford. “We must set traps in this area then return to the camp.”

The knight tone was resolute and there was a bit of exasperation. Olyvar had known Lady Meera for little time but he knew she would loathe that tone. Instead, he saw her looking at the mounted knight, decided.

“I agree Ser, you ought to do so. I will cross this stream and explore, I will be back in an hour. Should I not return on time you must return to the camp and I will join you later.”

The men were silent and Marcil turned to Olyvar, raising an eyebrow as saying: _I thought you I dislike dealing with the mudmen, Frey._ The men were looking at him, Meera eyes were on him too, with a gleam of ferocity he normally disliked on people but it suited her, the huntress, she would have against the wolf alone if she could he thinks and is somehow impressed at her courage even it doesn’t help at all.

Olyvar himself loathed these situations, his authority with his men was already undermined by him being a kinslayer and a Frey they wanted him to order Lady Reed, her refusal to do so would be another blow to his status and would show weakness to his men and crannogmen. There was only an option truly.

He dismounted. “My lady, I will go with you. After an hour we shall be back.”

“Suit yourself.” She accepted, even if he was sure she would have preferred to go alone of with some of her men.

She attached her spear and net on her back and advance to the stream. On a second, was at the other side agile as a cat, hopping between rocks surefooted and silent. Olyvar followed her steps praying not to fall and make a fool of himself. He managed and in some seconds he was following Meera between threes. They walked in silence, he tried to make as little noise as possible as they got far from the murmur of the steam water. Forests could be so silent in winter. The crannogwomen was leading them in direction of the Green Fork he think. These were parts of the lands of the Twins he had not visited since, after the war, he had to go to villages to give money or to organize counting of the population that his liege requested. But the forest and the frontier with the North was mostly left alone. In summer he had come here with some of his half-brothers to hunt.

Meera Reed walked with assurance she had explored these parts before their expedition. On his own camp, a sort of fleeting camaraderie has been established despite the different origins, based on ale and on the desire to kill the wolf. If some of his men now talked with crannogmen and had share ale with them no one tried to talk with their lady. And still, when the crannogmen were not around Meera was a popular subject on conversation, most men were puzzled at her skills at clothes. They found her pretty too and Olyvar had to agree. Everyone knew about Daenerys Targaryen, and Maege Mormont and Arya Stark and Asha Greyjoy. But after the war, most people had expected things to return to the way they were before. But that, he knows, can never be.

Olyvar was more impressed by how much her men seemed to respect her although he did understand why the crannogmen trusted the heir to their lands so much, her skills as a huntress, her adventures, worthy of song and popular hero tales. And she seemed kind enough. The relation between her and her bannermen based most on trust than rang it seem.

“Are we going to the river, my lady?” He asked, softly.

She nodded and kept walking. On the way to the river, there were no footprints not fur but it was not that was she was looking for. She was talking to herself like counting and soon enough they could hear the roaring of the Green Fork. The stream and the river were less than a mile apart then. Meera looked satisfies when they reached the shores. She turned to him.

“Lord Frey, we can return.” She declared, like wanting for him to say something.

“Do you know my lord, why your House, why the ironborn, and many other were unable to conquer The Neck?” She asked an expectant look in her eyes.

“Because of your swaps, I think. We are not used to enemies who hide in the threes and send poisoned arrows. You know your land and-” _She is testing me._ He tried to think about the wolf and the direwolf. The river and the stream and she counting. “Because, you see us but we don’t see you when one wants to return your men already covered that position and if arrows don’t kill, your swap takes care of that… You wish to hunt he wolves not to a clearing but to the river. You want to put archer in the river and in the stream?”

“So Southrons are not entirely hopeless.” She declared.

“I hope not my lady.” Olyvar must look really pathetic being so happy she is pleased with him not many people are this day. Except Roslin and Beth of course, thinking on them tamper his determination.

The way back is, much shorter, they cross the stream and find a few men waiting for them. They have probably took more than an hour and it had started raining, a soft thing at first but grey cloud covered the sky and a strong smell of humidity was a warning. They are still talking as their mount, Meera having promised her men more details at the camp.

“You wish to do an announcement worthy of an heir of The Neck?” He tried for a joke but she looked at him strangely.

“It’s still strange to me, even after all these years. I never imagined myself as my father heir.”

“Then my lady, you lack imagination.” He said, almost without thinking on another Twins, crowded and unkind but powerful, when his father and his Perwyn the brother he loved was alive and Roslin prayed every night for a handsome knight that would carry her away from the Twins to a luminous life. It was not entirely happy, but safer, more than anything it was another life and yet it felt like it was not long ago, maybe these lands reminded him of it so clearly.

He immediately regrets it when Meera felt silent. She did not speak for some minutes, focusing on riding. Of course, he would be displeased, she had only one brother and she loved him like families. Most don’t have a count on how many of their kin have to die for them to become lords. Or they did it more discreetly than the Freys at least.

“I’m sorry my lady, I was out of line.” He said, on a breath.

She nodded.

“You killed one of your brothers, did you not Lord Frey?”

She asked finally. Voice cold and Olyvar winced but was not surprised nor truly offended because it’s the same thing everyone asks. At least she had not heard he killed Robb himself with a dagger to the back like some version of the story went.

“No my lady, I killed my half-nephew Walder Frey, Black Walder they called him. He was older and a much better warrior. I killed him with a blown from the back. I would have never been able to best him in battle.” Behind them the men had fallen silent, trying to eavesdrop his story. He could tell her more details, to explain but it did not matter as he had killed his kin, a crime in the eyes of gods and men. He would never say that it was his half-niece Amy who asked him to do it. He wanted to forcibly marry her and though they have been lovers she rather enjoys been Lady Darry and Walder would not let her anything more than a silent wife. He himself was rather worried about his own continued existence. “He could have killed me, but that is no excuse I know.”

They were silent later until their arrival.

Meera’s plan was dangerous and required to be done it as soon as possible. The wolves would look to scape when they realized traps had been set and if they relocated they could do more killing, and all the searching would be for nothing. That night the howling started early like an enemy arming singing and drumming to scare the enemy.

“We have to prepare, tonight they will return” Said Lejan Craig.

* * *

They have seen them, found them. They are coming. They would attack son but men do not attack at night. Nymeria fury is powerful and all-consuming, she would return, some wolves are too afraid to go with her but even alone she will go, she is the pack leader and she knows, she will swim to them and tear the men, feast on their gut and bones. She does not care for their fire and their arrows. Killing all she can in the night will leave them weak in the morning. She can almost taste in her mouths the flesh of those men.

That night it rained on the Riverlands while on her ship the air was warm. It’s what makes her realize it’s a dream. Arya tries to get out of the dream, but she seems unable as she feels Nymeria going out in the snow, her back behind her, crossing the river and approaching the camp. The cold bites her body like a dozen furious wolfhounds but neither of the she-wolves cares. The river has grown since yesterday she thinkss she hears how one grey wolf is carried away but Nymeria is a very skilled swimmer and is able to show her pack the safe path. Her rage makes her alert, focused, much like it did with Arya. They get out of the water and stay on the banks where they scent cannot be detected, there are something like ten wolves with her.

The men are armed, they are doing wards. She detects the woman, the one who leads them with a man. They have been close to then that same evening and Nymeria wants to kill them but knows it’s not time, she must not do it alone.

So soft on her paws she approached them. Arya tries to calm her, she must know who these people are, she wants to understand all the other nights she could not catch banners or faces or decorations on the horses but winter is not a time for much ostentation. _Where do these men come from? Let’s find out Nymeria, please._

* * *

Meera’s decision was supported by most men and those rivermen who didn’t comply after Olyvar, The Hunter and Ser Erenford taught it was the best option if they didn’t want to retreat. Some knights from the Riverlands seemed inclined to do so but neither the crannogmen nor the common men seemed keen to the idea. Olyvar and the Erenford told that they could not afford another expedition.

“And our lieges are otherwise occupied.” Said Penn Grengood, Meera should have chastised him to defend Lady Sansa, but she didn’t feel exactly like it at the moment _. I will send the pelt to Winterfell if I can._ “If we do not kill it now it will not fear hunting parties anymore”.

The howling started before it was dark. Camps were joined and the crossbowmen and archer crannogmen climbed some threes. Meera would be on foot with the mean carrying spears. It really felt like a battle and she hated it. She was wondering overseen preparation, either the men liked it or not. When she ear a group of men talking in hushed tones and saw a small fired she approached only to be stopped by Lord Frey.

“My lady, that’s my cousin and these men, they will return to their position in one minute. I told them no but… it will be short.”

She approached and could see indeed four men, one Lord Frey cousin and four common men kneeling in circle.

“Are they praying?”

“They are my lady.” At her surprised look he explained “To the Lord of Light. My cousin was a ward in the Westerlands and the Lord of Light has become popular among the small folk. ”

She nodded, trying to hear some of the prayers but could not. It was about to get dark. She did not much about the religion but had seen the men praying at the Wall and the Red Woman.

“Lady Reed, please accept my apologies again. Earlier my words were cruel. It came from stupid things we said when I was young.”

Meera had wanted to talk to him but maybe later, it had not been the best interaction, though one expected from a Reed and a Frey. However, she was sure they both had tried their best to forget their rivalry.

“Your words were out of line, and cruel. But I’ve heard then much. Even in my land… My brother was sicky, he had the swap fever as a boy and nobody believed he would die, but sometimes he asked me to think about being Lady of the Neck. My mother too, she only asked me to think about a betrothal should my brother be to frail to father an heir. I would become furious and not talk to them for days. My brother Jojen was practical and clever, he would have been a great Lord.” _Better than me._

She recalls and does stop a stream of sadness to flow through her. Jojen had been his best friend, they were so different and yet as close as siblings can be, they talked for hours and she had loved him more than anything. More than her parents perhaps. He mourned him, still cried at times and there was not a day were she didn’t hope he could give her advice. Frey was looking at her with sad eyes and she did not want him to pity Jojen. Her he could pity but she loathed that he would think him weak.

“He had powers too, green dreams. It was him who guided us north and beyond the wall. He would have been a great lord. Maybe he could have conquered some land South for the Stark and become Marsh King.” She ended.

She could easily imagine his brother as one of the magical kings of time past while she commanded armies of crannogmen mounted on lizard-lions to the Riverlands. Olyvar had looked at her puzzled then laughed.

“Lady Reed, mayhaps you should follow on his projects and become Marsh Queen, it’s a good time to conquer the Riverlands two dragons had already done so. And one without the actual dragons. I’ve bend the knee to both. Why not a crannogwoman.”

She smiled too. It was easy talking to him, but then again Meera had always found easy talking to people provide that they put the tiniest effort into it. Still, his brown eyes were warm and he seemed fond of those silly stories she also loved.

“If I become Marsh Queen would you bend the knee?”

“I’ve surrender Rosby to a dragon and Darry to another. My career as a castellan would not be completed without bending the knee to another odd monarch. You are a little like the dragon queen too. Your people would die for you.” As long as compliment went this was a good one, sobering on a way. “I would only ask for my niece to retain her ladyship.”

“I shall be a just Queen with all my subjects, even Frey ones.”

“She is a Tully, she will start a cadet branch with his husband taking her name.” He spoke fondly of her. “She looks the part too.”

“Auburn hair and blue eyes?”

He nodded and Meera wondered if he had been trying to court her, if that’s the way that boys talk to girls or if these were pleasantries common in the south. She did not mind it much.

* * *

Nymeria crushed to approach the river hiding her sounds. The woman and the men were talking alone, she wanted to attack now but had to wait. She would kill them soon enough.

_"The hair is darker, but her eyes they remind me of Robb’s and Lord Edmure and Lady Catelyn of course.”_

Arya forces the wolf to stop to listen. Who is this man who knew her brother, her mother? A woman smiles and nods, she is small and slim and she knows her.

“ _Like Brandon Stark… You know what I’ve concluded, Lord Frey? The Tully seed is the strongest of them all, Lady Sansa too, she is said to look just like her mother. Baratheon seed is put to shame.”_

The man laughs and some minutes later other men join them. She must stop Nymeria. She must warn. In a second two strong arms are shacking her and Arya kicks and punches but is taken away from her sleep.

When she wakes up in her bed, the rocking of the ship allows her to steady her breath. In front of her Gendry is holding his eye in his hand. More worried than crossed it seems. She would like to apologize but cannot talk so she put close and left her cabin. Outside the air is war and the sea breeze is a welcome change of air to the biting cold of the Riverlands. She thinks about what she saw and looks at the sea. Leaving Westeros had been necessary but at times she missed her family fiercely all the same. She promised Sansa and Bran she would return as soon as possible but only in winter, the ironborn of Lonely Light talked about a wind capable of taking a ship to islands west of the known world.

Gendry came to her when it was almost dawn.

“Can I get close, or will my lady attack?”

“No lady, perhaps I will attack though.” She said and tried to smile even if she felt about to cry. He got so close she could smell his scent and feel his heat it was reassuring. “You were right, Lord Baratheon.”

He hated being called that and he puts a hand on her shoulder. “What was I right about?”

“Nymeria. There are men looking to hunt her and her pack. Many men too, at least twenty, and A lady of House Reed and a lord of House Frey. Frey and Reed hate each other. It’s not a pleasure hunt.” She explained and Gendry nods. “I should have taken care of it. She was so angry and their pack started eating-“

“Men.” He provides and Arya looks into his eyes, mostly surprised and a bit ashamed.

“You knew!” She accuses.

“That’s why I told you…” Gendry gives as exasperated sigh and touches his hair, then winces as he touched is eye too. It has started to blacken. “I realized here, I knew there was a man-eating pack in the Riverlands. People were starting to get very afraid when you started telling me your dream of wolves we had already leave Westeros and you say you couldn’t warg anymore.”

Arya pressed her lips together and felt the hurt and resignation that one only feels when it’s time to do one's duty.

“If you had told me sooner, I wouldn’t have listened.” The sun raised just in front of them, hot and wide and still she felt cold inside. “I’ll take care of it.”

* * *

No man was lost. A dozen wolves are not an army and among them were veterans of many battles. Meera was relieved but also intrigued for some reason the direwolf had been confused and slow even though it was the biggest one Meera has ever seen. Still it had seek to fight and launched itself at Derryl taking him to the ground but his wolfhounds had attacked, attaching themselves to the legs and back, a crossbow blows had forced it to retreat. Six wolfhounds and a horse died and its jaw alone. Other two horses had to be put down. The impact of the fall had unsettled the hunter's arm but he lived.

The wolves were an odd sort and didn’t launch like normal wolves, like dogs, provoking and then retreating. Rather they tried to reach the neck and once there refused to let go. Like fight dogs and lizard-lions. Of course, they would be able to effectively kill and carry away adults let alone children. They had learned that men is the easiest prey. The Hunter told them it was that wolves would have never charge like soldiers, like men, like an intelligent creature.

“It’s the direwolf, they are magical creature.” Someone had said, with fear. _A decade ago it would have sound childish instead of menacing._

Lejan Cray had been badly bitten in the neck and while they managed to stop the bleeding Meera ordered him and his son to return to Wetwood first time in the morning. She could not bear to loose someone at a hunting expedition. One of the Erendford men and a common men were hurt too and had to be taken to safety village as the wounds were deep, aiming to take a mouthful of meat. Meera had fought for least three hours a torch in one hand and a hunt hammer on the other. Lord Frey has provided her with that weapon belonged to some dead relative. She hated the weapon it was light enough but the mace was very strong and she could feel all the vibrations when she hit the skulls or ribs of a wolf. She put some animals out of her misery later too, with her spear.

As soon as it was clear, the men from the Riverlands rode, and the crannogmen went to the water. Night makes every shadow grown and every step be unsure, with light Meera felt wide awake. The excitement of the hunt running through her, the Green Fork was rough and it would help them. Rough water doesn’t allow the smell to settle and the roaring of the river would muffle their breathing and movement, that an animal hears can detect. Paddling was not easy but she had faced meaner currents alone so had her men. When they reached the destination she climbed on a three with her spear as did some men with bows and crossbows and some minutes the boat was hidden and it was like there was not a single living thing in these banks and she felt fiercely proud of her people.

* * *

Arya thought she could no longer warg because it was no longer easy. She had to close her eyes and let it wash away from here, away from the sea and search the anger, the rivers, her mother's lands, and her father’s words. She remembers her hands on Nymeria fur, the day she sends her away, the first wolf dreams on Braavos. Then she felt doing far, going deep and she felt the claws in the mud, the humidity on the air she could smell easily. The tiredness, the fear, and the anger so much anger. She could take it, she knew how. They had killed together, Arya had killed Frey on her wolf and Nymeria had helped her kill wights and unicorns.

Nymeria should run. Run fast, run far away and yet it would solve nothing. Because she not only does not fear human but she would come to loath them. She already saw them as prey, the easiest prey. She had learned that from Arya. How frail the bones on the neck were, how they should launch themselves and never let go. When the horses approached she tried to fight but the arrows rained and her anger was total. She ordered her pack to surround them and to cross the stream to keep them from coming. Some females escaped with the pups she could feel her scent getting away from.

And despite the fear and the anger, they were seasoned killers still, she understood the men wanted to take her to the river. A trap. Obviously a trap. One of the men approached on his horse, with a crossbow and Arya knew what she had to do. Maybe he would die, she no longer wished death upon people often, but she didn’t care that only one man die to give the other a chance of doing the killing. If he was a friend to Robb my brother will have the compassion I had not. It was a young man. He is one of them. _His pack killed our brother Nymeria, he must pay, he must die, we will him like we killed he others._ She lounged herself at him and the horse slipped, a good hunt horse brave, he could jump and hesitate, just a second before running to the river. He was a strong swimmer but so was Nymeria, she felt little spiked of arrows on her as she enters on the water.

But her anger made her powerful, she swims as the arrows touched her fur, her skin. _Kill him, he must pay, he must die._ Arya pleaded to keep Nymeria for realizing that there were men in the threes and she could size her legs perhaps. So she swims, she swim and the man is getting tired and then it happens. It’s like a blow between her shoulders but the man keeps going and so do her. And suddenly its too much and she can’t keep with the water, her paws are cold and her sides hurt and the blood in her mouths is hers. “Never die inside your wolf Arya” Bran warned her.

_Don’t be afraid Nymeria, please don’t be angered, you did not fail, you never failed. It was me who failed you I’m so sorry, I love you. I will always love you._

It tears her apart when she goes out. Arya Stark cried. No silent tears but a deep ravenous howl that makes all the ship crew scared, that make some ironborn sailors, veterans of Euron Greyjoy battles, fear it’s the Kraken reborn. She just cries at it seems to her that it last forever that a part of her mind had been carved with a sword. With her Needle as she was the one to did it to her. She doesn’t call her name for Nymeria didn’t answer to the name no more but she answer to her heart to her mind. Her direwolf is gone and she killed her. It seems impossible she still feel inside the thrill of the hound, the craving for blood, the absolute awareness of each member of the pack. Arya wants to slit the woman and the men throats, want to pronounce their name at night before sleeping but mostly feels guilty.

 _I did this to her._ She thinks when finally she can stop shouting. Not when she threw rocks at her at the Trident, a lifetime ago, nor when she made them follow the hunters to her death. But also all those years. _She feeds on my hatred and I feasted on her strength._ Or maybe it was the other way around.

Gendry doesn’t come until she is silent because he knows when she cannot stand other company than hers. “Arya” he says softly when he sees her bloodshot eyes. He holds her while le cries silently this time, clenching her jaw so hard it hurts. The rocking of the ship reminding her of another water. Of another death.

* * *

When Olyvar enters the rapids he knows he would die, he has not time to be scared because he has to swim he owns much to his survival instinct to ignore it now. When he sees out of the corner of his eyes the monstrous form of the wolf being carried away a new impulse of life invades him. The water is freezing and he hits rocks then he sized a branch, water, foaming water shoving his body like a ragdoll. And he thinks. I would die slower, because he is trying to breathe and knows how to keep his head out of the water. And he thinks in Ros, she asked him on the first day in the Twins _“I never wanted this brother, you have to help me, don’t leave me alone.”_ She will be mad, not very mad he hopes. I did it for Beth, sister so years later she can tell her Blackwood betrothed someone of her blood did something good. So she doesn’t have to be only ashamed. His hand is bleeding and he will not be able to hold for long. The roaring of the Green Fork is deafening and still he hears something, calling his name.

He rises his head and a slim figure is shouting, from a drift boat close to him, close but not on reach. 

“Frey, Frey listen to me, you have to swim under this and get to me. Just try and get close, as close as you can. Get underwater.”

He can’t he is sure but he tries he aspires and let himself sink, the water is not so strong the lower he sinks and for some blissful second his body is in peace. He swims then, arms and legs and everything as long as he can when he resurfaces he hear a loud sound near him but cannot move. When he wakes up he is shoved on the floor of a boat and his arms are bleeding with marks of nails and he is alive. He is alive and on a net and Lady Reed is standing a paddle in her hands. He vomits water and all of his insides it seems, it hurt to breath.

“Lady R-” he tries but is seized by a cough.

“Breath with your mouth.” She answers but doesn’t look at him.

They don’t speak for a long time and part of him knows why, they boat is drifting down the river and Lady Reed, Meera, is trying paddle to safety. He feels something falling on him and realizes its furs it helps but he is still not that cold for the fear and the swimming.

When he wakes up the second thing the first thing he realized is that he is on a net, covered in furs and his wet clothes are freezing him. There is no movement and he realizes Meera is seizing his hair somehow unkindly.

“Frey, wake, come on.” He opens his eyes and she helps him sit and get out of her net. “We were seized by some streams and now we are somewhere.” She is shivering slightly, her hair and breaches wet and there is something like a smile on her lips. Olyvar does and heroic effort get on her feet but as soon as he is standing Lady Reed has to help him get out of the boat. How she manage with such a small frame is a mystery but her grip on her arm is strong. She ties the boat surely and it seems that a thousand miles until they reach a clearing and she lets him rest under a tree.

“You saved me.”

“Aye, I fished you!” She laughs, proudly.

He nods and he dim light that filter between the branches seems to to glow on her eyes. Olyvar does not what possessed him to take her hand on his and kiss her knuckles, her hands smell of smoke and wood and his lips and probably equally cold.

“I’m in debt to you, Lady Reed.” He says and he can keep himself to smile at her.

She sits in front of him, smiling as well.

“More than you think my Lord. I lost my spear on this hunt too. For starters, I shall have the wolf pelt.” She declared, her chin proud and her eyes and smile as bright as Valyrian steel.

“Lady Meera, you shall have whatever you wish, I’m your humble servant.” They are both smiling and he want to ask if it was her that gave the final blow to the wolf. He hopes she was, he had been so scared, and once again death had eluded him and he is so relieved.

“Then serve me.” She orders on a whisper and he can hear the cracking of fire and the river roaring and nothing more and he wonders if he went crazy underwater he is imagining things. He is still holding her hand, he notices because she is pressing it before she leans to kiss him, still graceful, her lips are chapped from the cold and she hungry and quickly like devouring him and he feels his lips start to warm. She is warm when he puts an open hand on her side, she gets close and he press a hand to her hip.

He is undressed under the furs she lend him and she knows. Touching his shoulders and chest, her fingers pressing strongly, a small hot pressure on his skin, her nails digging and do her teeth and he wouldn’t mind her bites and her claws in him. The terrors easily forgotten on her eyes. She distances herself and gets rid of her leathers and her breeches and he gets rid of his pelt.

“What-” his voice sound strained and he takes a deep breath. Then he tries for the most courteous voice he can think, jokingly on surface but he means his words. “What will you have me do, my lady?”

She is not ashamed to be naked in front of him, the fire cast shadows and lights, her breast are small but they look lovely with how right her back is. He is hard already despite the cold, only looking at her skin, she has scars or sword and of biting. He has scars too and he hopes she finds no inconvenience on him. He had women’s and she had men’s he supposes. Maybe things are different in the crannog, she is their lady after all. Young men must feel blessed for having her. He surely does, her breast within reach and her muscular and slim frame radiating heat.

“You might remain sit.” She licked her lips and he felt himself go hard just by looking at her pink tongue. "You might kiss me.” It’s her who kiss him languidly, he touches her narrow hips again another hand on her back, he lowers from the hips slowly, teasing and touches her thighs, soft and warm in his palm, he lets his finger touch her cunt. She is wet and gives a loud moan. “Aye” He is still kissing her, her jaw and her neck, nuzzling her ear. Her nails dig on his shoulder blades and she pressed herself to his hand and he caresses slowly. He feels her smiling and kisses the corner of her lips.

Meera puts one hand on his neck and in a second she has her hand on his should, her knees pressed to his hips, her naked blossom on his thighs. Her wetness all around his cock. It’s him who moans now and pleads. She makes slow and long moves and he wants her so much. “Stay calm, you want to please me.” She advises and he tries he breaths and opens his eyes. Hand now on her breast, he can take it easy on his palm, his hand had been hurt. Meera still smells like smoke and mud, like rain he thinks. His cock sending waves of pleasures while she rocks herself eyes closed and nails still on him. Little by little she starts moving faster pressing his face to her, he licks her jaw, hands on her lower back, he pressed, and feels so close inside of her, her knees pressing tightly on his hips. She doesn’t cry but does a profound from the back of her throat no unlike the rumble of the river, she wears a smile then, all tooth and pleasure. He does moan when he comes. She hugs him later, her nose on his shoulder. He feels numb when she gets up and dresses her some. He puts his breeches and they sleep under the fur. His eyes closing immediately drifting on deep sleep, her hair ticking his jaw.

* * *

Its night when Meera wakes it’s not so cold, with the fire and having another body pressed to her helps. She is pressed to the man side, his hand on her knee, she doesn’t seek to move. She laid with a Frey, certainly not what she had planned. But all she did plan came to be, the Beast of the Green Fork, is death on his own waters, Meera spear on her shoulders. No men is dead. No men can die of the wounds, she hopes, she prays. Unsure as she might be of many things about her ladyship this is something she knows she can do. “ _Your men would die for you.”_ Frey had told her. _They would, but am I worthy of such loyalty?_ She hoped sometimes that more thing in life could be solved with a spear.

Olyvar Frey wakes up opening her eyes first and looking at her curiously, they eyes meet and she raises an eyebrow. “Did I please my lady?”

“Some, it was adequate service, my lord.” She answers, and it’s true. There are not many men with which Meera had shared a bed. Some at the war, never her bannermen, brief things out of desperation. It’s the first that she doesn’t have to gets back to fear her impending death after the afterglow has passed. She is not sure about what to do. She stands and offers him a hand. He raises and towers over her. The cold wakes her and she put some branches on the fire.

“It’s me who should thank you. You saved my life and it was a privilege to have been favoured by the Lady of the Neck. I would be very discreet, of course, I don’t want your crannogmen suitors to riddle me with arrows.”

In the Neck people are poor and women and men have to contribute to work. Girls can learn to fight and to hunt and while women had a say in their households, still Meera had been freer than most, she was highborn and the daughter of Howland Reed a man unusual even among his own people. His father teaching her everything he knew.

“I don’t have any, but should you talk Frey, I will put my spear between your ribs.” She searches her spear before remembering she lost it. She remembers her hands on his ribs and blush.

He laughs and nods. “You lie to, my lady. Grown men become quiet when you speak and your lord father trust you to deal with their Freys enemies. I’m certain all young crannogmen pray to your Old Gods to make you their wife. You are fair, an heir with a castle and personal friend to the Starks, your Lord father must receive letters from all the North. Especially from those houses who didn’t remember as clearly as others during the war.”

 _Is that your plan Lord Frey?_ She almost asks but it’s too teasing, too daring. The truth is she should accept suitors or ask for a match to Lady Sansa, unlike her liege she does not have any other siblings that could produce heirs. It seemed distant but she was no longer a girl, had not been for a long time and she has to do her duty.

“I wouldn’t know of those request, we do not have ravens at my castle.” They are sitting around the fire and with the shadow of flames but he seems to be disappointed hearing that. “And it’s for the best. Not many men would survive my swaps my lord, not even Northern.”

Bran would have, but he was not mean for her. He was at the capital now, and she was not mean for his life. And still, some times she imagined he would have thrived on the Neck. It’s so difficult for her to think about how other lords think of her lands poor and magical. She loves it but sometimes she wanted to scape too, to fly.

“You would be surprised, my lady. My cousin Amy, the lady Darry is married to a Meerenese who fought in the pits, Rosby castellan is an Unsullied and a Targaryen is married to Jon who was raised a bastard at Winterfell. I’m sure a Flint can survive the swaps, provided that no spear pierces his ribs.”

Neither of them is really on condition for hunting and those banks are still dangerous, so it’s only logic that they would not sleep much, spending the night talking to quench their hunger with words. It’s amiable and it would be over in the morning for their houses are still enemies. On the morrow they would hunt and search their way following the river, they should be some miles from Greenshores. She thinks on the direwolf and suddenly, inexplicably feels very sad.

“It was not it fault you know, that wolf.” She tries to explain. “Animals are not vicious, dishonourable, it was everything.”

She made a circular motion with her hand, it was the Gods perhaps but mostly men. She remembers Leaf and the Children of the Forest what they said about magic, about the world men have created. It would always be men and yet she could not bring herself to condone all humanity. But now there is because of them one less wonder, one less horror in this world.

“I would have called it vicious alright, but I understand, the war let so many corpses, even some chicken would feast on them. But I’m glad it is gone my lady, I saw death before my eyes. This would make for great songs about the Lady Meera Slayer of the Great Beast of the Green Fork.”

At times she wishes all she has ever knew where the reeds, the mud, the bogs and the river. The simple life of her people. But she knows that even if she had not followed Jojen she would left, to see the world like her father has. She still crave it sometimes, wondering how are the unicorns of Skagos that Lord Rickon had seen, how are the distant lands of the Lord of Light that Southrons seem so eager to convert to, if the Torrentine River is as beautiful as her Green Fork. But now it’s the time of keeping peace. _I’m the heir now_.

“I am not the true hero here. We should praise instead The Green Fork is a great allied of both our houses, the only one we share. He did what we could not”

But for tonight she doesn’t mean talking and joking on the bitter cold. Hoping for more peaceful days.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this indulgent long one-shot. Rival families to lovers is one of my fave tropes and this all wishful thinking as I'm not convinced these two aquatic dears will survive to see Spring, but oh well.


End file.
